


Desperate Times

by AngelinaDeux



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Aftercare, Desperation, M/M, Non-negotiated, Punishment, Some praise, Strict Washington, Unconventional Discipline, Watersports, promise of aftercare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 04:25:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6141418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelinaDeux/pseuds/AngelinaDeux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexander has too much to drink at Laurens' farewell gathering and is late for a meeting with Washington. A punishment he didn't expect ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desperate Times

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Hamilton Kink meme prompt here: https://ham-kink.dreamwidth.org/937.html?thread=4009#cmt4009

Alexander was running out of time, as both his bladder and General Washington’s voice in his head kept reminding him. As he raced to the command tent as quickly as his dignity and degree of inebriation would allow, he knew he would have to disappoint either his bladder or his General. His bladder already knew which one that would be. It had waited for the General before.

Alexander came to a sudden halt, the liquid inside him sloshing in protest. He was too late. Washington was waiting outside the tent, and he did not look pleased. 

“You have kept me waiting this half hour, Colonel Hamilton,” he stated, stern but seemingly unaffected. Alexander briefly breathed a sigh of relief (though even that put uncomfortable pressure on his bladder), before he looked into Washington’s eyes and knew there would be a reckoning to be reckoned in the privacy of the tent. All the more reason to excuse himself for a moment.

He ducked his head a little, knowing that to bow would be to soil himself in front of the camp. “My deepest apologies, Your Excellency, but it was Colonel Laurens’ sendoff tonight and you know how he his about ordering further rounds…..”

Washington raised a brow. “My orders should trump whatever Colonel Laurens orders, should they not, Colonel Hamilton?”

“Yes, sir, of course,” Alexander said desperately. “And I will take whatever punishment you deem necessary as soon as I’ve relieved myself. Sir, I had too much and—“

“Believe me, I know. I can smell you from here,” Washington said coldly. “And you’ll take the punishment I deem necessary right now.”

“But sir—“ Alexander kept himself from whining by the barest thread. 

“Meet me inside,” Washington ordered, and Hamilton could do nothing but obey.

He found Washington waiting for him at his own desk, where the dispatches that were due at midnight awaited. Shit, the dispatches that were due at….no wonder Washington was furious. It was now already 11:30 and Washington had predicted they would take 45 minutes to finish. They could not keep the rider waiting.

Alexander swallowed, his mouth dry and his skin prickling with shame. Was this the point in his career he’d point to when asked where it had all gone wrong? Where he’d turned into his father? 

No. It would take him two minutes—maybe three, the pressure of his bladder told him—to relieve himself. He could write two hundred words every five minutes—make that seven, given the amount of ale he’d consumed--but he would have everything finished, he would.  
He glanced over at the papers on his desk and felt so weak from relief he almost lost control of himself right then. He had completed a draft before he left and neglected only to tell Washington. All he needed to do was some light editing and ask a few questions. 

“Sir, there is a draft on the table before you. I’m sorry I didn’t inform you of it before I left, but if you’ll just peruse it while I relieve myself I can make the changes in a matter of minutes.”

“I have read the draft and am ready for you to make the changes now, Hamilton,” was all Washington said, as though Alexander were asking him for the impossible. Or for a command. Again.

“But sir, if you could just wait—“ he started, before his brain caught up with his mouth.

Washington looked as though he couldn’t believe his ears, as though Alexander knew better. “I have been waiting, Colonel. And now so must you.”

Alexander shivered, his body sweating with the effort of keeping it in, of not utterly humiliating himself. This, Alexander realized, was his punishment. This could not be happening.

But it was, and there was no time to examine it. He moved carefully to sit, only to have Washington’s large palm press across his chest, stopping him. “You’ll stand to make these revisions. I’ll not have you ruining this chair with any accidents.”

Alexander closed his eyes for a moment and swallowed, not trusting himself to speak, then grabbed his quill and ink and hunched over the desk, gasping as the position sent ripples of pain through him. Washington appeared unmoved as he began dictating. 

And Alexander wrote, sweating even more, shivers making it difficult to keep a firm grip on the quill. 

Two minutes passed. Halfway through. A violent shudder tore through Alexander and he straightened, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Sir, please. It hurts,” he forced out. Washington surely knew how much it hurt to even say those words?

Washington gave him the same look he gave to men he sentenced to flogging or hanging. It wasn’t gloating or sorrowful. It was simply determined. Implacable. 

“And on page five, try to be diplomatic with the language you use about Gates….” Washington continued as though Alexander hadn’t spoken.

A minute later, and it hurt so much Alexander was breathing though his mouth. Washington’s hand on his shoulder startled him into releasing a dribble and he gasped, shook himself. “You’re doing so well, son. Just a little longer,” Washington said quietly, and Alexander wanted to cry for yet another reason.

Two minutes later, and he was done. The quill slipped from his fingers and he stood, wanting to run to relieve himself but knowing he had to wait to be dismissed. And that he’d never make it. 

“You can go now, Hamilton,” Washington said softly. How had Alexander not noticed how warm his voice usually was when he spoke to him? He hadn’t been aware of it until the warmth had been withdrawn, and returned. 

“I….can’t” was all he could say as he at last let go, the slow trickle turning into a torrent. After his bladder refused to obey his commands any longer, his eyes joined in the mutiny and let go of the tears that had been gathering. 

Alexander looked up as he continued to piss. It was better, he reasoned, than standing there pissing with his eyes closed, tears streaming down his cheeks. 

Washington reached out, turning Alexander to face him. Alexander had tried to forget he was there. But the look Washington was giving him now was not one of disgust or triumph at the success of his punishment, but one of tenderness. 

“Don’t worry, Alexander. It was my punishment that did this to you. I’ll take care of this, of you, now.”

Alexander’s breath hitched. “But the rider—“

“We have a little time yet, thanks to your diligence. And we have after.”


End file.
